Mona Lisa was
von Schilling’s first operatic success.
It had a sustained level of esteem in
central Europe after its initial production
in Stuttgart in 1915 that saw it taken
to Vienna, Berlin and Prague. After
the War a production was mounted at
the Met in New York (1923 to be precise
with a strong cast of Barbara Kemp,
Michael Bohnen and Curt Taucher). Since
when things have gone quiet. There was
a Kemp produced revival in 1939 and
immediately after the War came this
Berlin production which has fortunately
been preserved in first class sound
for the period.

The reasons for Mona
Lisa’s fall from grace are not that
hard to fathom. The plot is a real sixpenny
dreadful, even by the standards of then
contemporary operatic story lines. Much
of the musical value resides in a post-Wagnerian
largesse and a series of moments of
melodramatic absurdity. Locked cabinets,
trysts, diabolical drownings and multiple
deaths are the heart of the matter.
But despite this there is a real sense
of power and of engulfing mania that
just about keeps the barque afloat.
The musical spine is Wagnerian and Straussian.
The Vorspiel is explicitly Wagnerian
and a sense of parlando pervades the
opening scenes; Mussorgskian bell peals
add their own sense of crisis and gloom
but in the First Act exchange Arrigo
brachte Mona Gina her we hear the
sense of lyric plasticity of which von
Schillings was so capable an exponent
– and, significantly, the more corrosively
unsettled orchestral writing behind
the lovers. The
music is frequently rapturous and there
are even Janáček-like chugging
rhythms (Zu unsren Perlen
endlich! – Disc 1 track 11). The
most important influence, apart from
Wagner’s, remains that of Strauss; Rosenkavalier
seems to haunt Mona Lisa’s scene Er
hat Kraft, ja er! though von Schillings
had clearly been captivated by verismo,
momemts of which certainly seep into
the end of the First Act.

The gruesome undercurrent
that runs throughout is conveyed in
a variety of ways – by orchestral sectional
groups, by the bass line, say, in Warum
so schreckhaft? where a waltz theme
is stalked by malign basses, and also
by the use of choral forces which is
spare but theatrically convincing. Madness
and death are the currency and the means
used to convey them are thoroughly effective
if garish. The cast proves deeply impressive,
in the cold light of day more impressive
than perhaps the opera warrants. Mathieu
Ahlersmeyer is Francesco del Giocondo
and he is at the top of his form; a
richly resonant baritone, fully equalized
and galvanized theatrically. Inge Borkh
is perfect casting for this kind of
role – she marries the tenderness with
the squally hysteria with fierce abandon.
Sometimes she drives the upper part
of the voice very hard but there’s surely
licence for this. Hans Beirer is almost
as fine as these notables and his Giovanni
can seldom have been matched for control
and evenness of tonal production.

A fine ancillary bonus,
in less good wartime sound, is Peter
Anders’ singing of the Glockenlieder.
He’s at his finest and most effulgent
in Mittagskönig und Glockenherzog
but he proves more than a match for
the pithy Wagnerianisms of Ein Bildchen
and the passionate Straussian declamation
of Die Frühglocke.

There are some useful
notes but no libretto – a long plot
summary is provided instead and that
will do, given the Poe-like level of
hysteria involved. Though it’s now perhaps
little more than a curio this is a work
that still has the power to resonate
in the mind.

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